


Last night on the barricade

by Kujaku



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/pseuds/Kujaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The barricade wouldn’t last forever, it was already a poor defense. If Grantaire had believed in a higher power he would have said that the barricade had only lasted so long because of a divine miracle. As it was, he believed in nothing other than the blood, sweat and tears that had built it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last night on the barricade

**Author's Note:**

> Small drabble originally posted on tumblr.  
> I have too much love for the Barricade Boys...

The taste was the same as it always was, as it always would be.

 

He drank it like there would be no tomorrow and frankly, he doubted there would be. But then he doubted a lot of things, it was just the way he was. He was the epitome of doubt, where others were the pinnacle of hope, and once again his mind nagged and ate and screamed at him to get up from where he sat and and just run away from this foolish and suicidal idea. They were a handful, two handfuls and most, with hardly two weapons per man, scarcely enough bullets and powder to last another night, and they all new it. This was the worst. The fact that they all knew it and yet they all stood fast, pretending to not care, pretending to not worry… How could they not? Was it the hope that shone in them and out of them and around them that made them capable of such a masquerade? And yet he shouldn’t blame them for it, for he was guilty of the biggest act of them all.

With the rain pounding on the café’s roof, he could hardly hear his heart beating. And he should have been able to, it made such a fuss in his chest as if it wanted to escape its bony cage. How well he understood his heart… He wanted to rip it out and throw it away, wanted to crush it and destroy it forever, and yet he treasured it like nothing else. He had nothing else, after all. Nothing but the clothes on his back, the sour taste of wine on his tongue, and his beating heart. He had nothing except that, and he would have given it all. In a way he had, and it made his lie so much deeper.

The sound of laughter brought him out of the darkness his mind had crept into again and he got up on his feet, still steady, and walked out into the rain. It was much lighter now, a soft pattering that hardly mattered in the long run, and he simply went to sit beside them. Their laughter didn’t cease when he approached, Courfeyrac simply slid an arm across his shoulders and pulled him closer, the easy smile he always wore never leaving his face. No words were necessary, just quiet companionship. No matter what else he sought here, it was friendship he always could find, and for that his gratefulness could scarce be measured. The laughter and the low conversations were like a soft coverlet on his never-ending doubts and questions, and he welcomed it. He welcomed Courfeyrac’s smiles like he welcomed any small random act of kindness. They were his brothers, he stayed if only to feel part of…something.

At the moment, Courfeyrac’s attention was fixed on Combeferre, cleaning his glasses with a practiced, methodical gesture. While it rained it was useless to do that, the glasses would just fog over again, but Combeferre didn’t seem to mind. Another smile came to Courfeyrac’s lips and Grantaire just had to turn away, concentrating on the bottle in his hand. Smiles like those were only reserved to those who were loved, those who had gone beyond brotherhood or friendship. Smiles like that were for lovers, he had no desire to look.

Life on the barricade had changed many things in the two days since the guns had been taken up for good. Well, nothing had really changed in honest. Things had just slotted into place, as if they’d waited for a single event to align. A night like this one…well, this was probably the one single event. But as he tore his gaze from the wine and witnessed the chaste kiss Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared in the pattering rain, he knew in his heart that they wouldn’t have long together. No, he was just too sceptical. They would have all the time in the world, he couldn’t deny them this one thing, could he? They would have all the time the gods would allow young lovers to have, just as Marius would have his Cosette. She would see him again, she would hold him again, and they would be young and happy forever. They all would.

Well…almost all. He couldn’t stop his hands from clenching as he thought about Jehan. How he had defied death with a shout, even though he knew it was coming and no-one could save him. Bahorel had just been still and silent after the shots had ended, as if light had been snuffed from his heart like a candle is blown out. He would be among the first to cherish the oncoming soldiers. It was a waste, a shameful waste of life and Grantaire had seen a lot of that. He had killed on this barricade of fools, fully expecting to be the first to feel Death’s cold hands clasp his shoulder seeing as how his luck loved to elude him, but it wouldn’t be. Jehan, sweet Jehan with a smile full of youth and love…he had been the first to fall, the first of his friends to be sacrificed on this damn barricade.

The anger flared up inside him, startling him with its intensity as much as the sadness contained in it. Jehan had been a fool, a damn, stupid and idealistic idiot who had sacrificed his life for something as ridiculous as an idea. Ideas were broken, trampled upon, changed… Who wanted to die for an idea? Living for one made so much more sense, even in such a senseless world as this one was… He felt like choking, like screaming, as if vomiting out his hate and his despair would help, as if it would bring Jehan back or save the others from what he dreaded and yet didn’t even try to escape. Escape would be useless anyway. The National Guard surrounded them and they would wait as long as they had to to take care of the rowdy students who stood there. The barricade wouldn’t last forever, it was already a poor defense. If Grantaire had believed in a higher power he would have said that the barricade had only lasted so long because of a divine miracle. As it was, he believed in nothing other than the blood, sweat and tears that had built it.

The old piano was still there; Feuilly and Joly had dragged it all across the street what seemed like an eternity away, their voices ringing out loud as they worked. They had even laughed, a clear, happy sound that had made everyone smile, even for an instant. And now, as they were sitting together, their pipes and their wine glasses filled, they still laughed and enjoyed the quiet evening. Bossuet wasn’t far away from them, he never had been, and tonight he was simply smiling as he listened to them chatter the minutes away. When those two began, they could talk until the sky turned green… The piano wasn’t tuned, it sounded like a saw when he caressed the keys. A brutal, raw and horrible sound, but he kept trying to make a tune out of the wreckage. He didn’t know what he was trying to play, didn’t even recognize the tune, only that he could still play. Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped, like he had stopped so many other things. Maybe he should have let the beauty of it rise him up instead of bearing him down like a lead weight around his neck. But it was too late now.

He wouldn’t see another sun set, he knew it. Everyone knew it. And still they didn’t run. Still they sat and laughed, played dice and cards, drank, smoked and spoke, comforted in their companionship and their faith. He had one of those things, at least. The easy companionship they gave without asking for anything in return. They accepted him with all his flaws and didn’t expect him to change.

If he ran, no-one would be surprised.

It was the most logical thing for him to do.

He was only surprised that he didn’t do it earlier.

With a last look at the barricade and those upon it, Grantaire simply slipped away into the darkness. 

 

*

 

Enjolras slowly stood up, his breath catching in his throat as he looked around him. The smoke and the haze cleared little by little, but it was only to show the bodies that lay strewn on the floor of the room. Outside there was still screaming, although he couldn’t recognize any of the voices anymore. All his friends…they had all died. He was sure of it now, he didn’t even have to think. He had seen too many of them fall… His eyes stung as he turned to face the guards, but it wasn’t only gun-smoke and pain. He couldn’t stand to look at those friends that had fallen right next to him but he couldn’t bear to let their faces go unremembered. For at least as long as he would live, anyway. The blood was pounding in his ears as he faced the rifles and the bayonets that had lined up in front of him and he clenched his fists, his eyes blazing even as he fought to contain the tears of frustration that welled up.

There had been no progress, this revolution of his would change nothing. In fact, it would never be called a revolution, it would be remembered as a simple revolt, silly students who thought they could reshape the world. But the silly students had at least fought for something, they had had a dream, a vision, and that thought warmed his heart just a bit. His friends hadn’t died for nothing, not at all. They had given their lives for an idea, so that idea would never disappear. It would grow in the hearts of the people and one day…one day it would rise again.

The officer in front of him gave an order and Enjolras felt his blood grow cold once more. This was it, this was the end for him as well. When the sword fell, the shots would be fired and he would join the lifeless bodies on the floor. At least he would die with them, and not survive them. That would break his heart into so many places…to survive those he would have given his life for. But the order didn’t come. A cry came from the open door and in surprise the guards hesitated. That was all the moment Enjolras needed to recognize the figure that came stumbled through from one of the corners the Musain had to offer.

Grantaire stood there, as stone cold sober as anyone had ever seen him, his eyes hotter and deeper than anyone could ever remember. He hadn’t run away, then… He had stayed… A sharp pain crept into Enjolras’ chest; all he wanted was to scream, to yell at Grantaire to run away this time, to not let anyone catch him, to forget the barricade and to renounce everything that it stood for. If one of the Friends of the ABC lived…that was more than he could have hoped for. And maybe it was fitting that it was this romantic, desperate, lonely soul of a cynic, who believed in nothing and no-one but who hadn’t abandoned his friends even in the face of death.

"I am one of them. Long live the Republic."

Enjolras could feel the tears streaming down his face. So even now, Grantaire was going to stay. Even now, he wasn’t going to leave them. Wasn’t going to leave him. Of course he knew about Grantaire’s feelings; how could he not? How could he have missed the lingering looks, the almost-touches, the pure _adoration_ that he seemed to inspire? He didn’t need another instant to think, he just held out his hand. Grantaire took it without a word and smiled, and Enjolras felt his heart break one more time. If only… If only they had had a little more time. If only things had been different… 

"Do you permit it…?"


End file.
